


O Sinful Night

by cxnicalsweetheart



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Non-con/dub-con, Panty Kink, Slight Cum Play, Somnophilia, pls it's just filth, slight pet play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:49:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28492656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cxnicalsweetheart/pseuds/cxnicalsweetheart
Summary: You and Bokuto have been friends for as long as you remember, so it would only make sense he would invite you to spend the holidays with his family, right? But Bokuto has complex feelings for you he can’t even begin to decipher and doesn’t care to. He just wants to cum with you at least once in his life, whether you’re aware of it or not.
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 83





	O Sinful Night

**Author's Note:**

> ok ok ok, i know this is a few days late but i kept forgetting to post it on here so forgive me pls. also PLS keep in mind this is a dark fic. it does contain somnophilia, panty theft, bokuto calling you "puppy", and slight cum play. if you're uncomfortable with any of that, pls don't read anymore.

When Bokuto first approaches you about spending the holidays with his family, it sounds like a dream.

You’re holed up in your apartment nearly drowning in your final projects. Empty coffee cups from various local shops litter your desk, some still containing the precious liquid gold but you have deemed too cold to drink. Your fingers shake as they tap away on your keyboard, your eyes burning from the strain of having them stare at the computer screen for what feels like five days straight, but you can’t afford to stop now. Not when you’re so close to finishing your final project.

Damn your professors for all having ridiculously high expectations.

You aren’t a bad student, per say, but if there’s an opportunity to push something off until the last minute, you’re going to take advantage of it. Though, you’re beginning to regret your habit of procrastination. It’s not your fault your brain only works properly when there’s a deadline looming over your shoulders.

Five minutes before the due time, you submit your final, and it feels as if you’re suddenly a hundred pounds lighter. Your fingers are sore, your eyes feel as if they’d pop out of your skull any second, your back aches from the hunch you had sat with, your head is pounding from too much caffeine and not enough water, but  _ you are done _ .

Chugging the last of your coffee, you shout with joy, and though it does nothing to help your headache, you don’t care. You’re free from the shackles of university and your winter break has officially begun.

With the weight of the world off of your shoulders, you plop onto your couch and prepare yourself to binge your current Netflix obsession, but a text message from your best friend stops you short, the name eradicating any sleepiness that had wrapped around you.

**Bobo Babie 🦉🤍:** _Are you done?? Am I allowed to text you again?? It’s an emergency!!_

You roll your eyes at how dramatic he can be, knowing that an emergency for Bokuto can range from “it’s 3 am and I really want to go to 7/11 to get slushies” to “I might have overestimated my ability to slam dunk a basketball and now my foot is facing the opposite direction and it’s very gross to look at”. You type away an affirmation before you can dwell too much on what has the man so antsy at midnight.

**Bobo Babie 🦉🤍:** _ Is it too late for me to come over?? Plz I wanna see you!! You’ve been more emo than me since your finals started _

**Bobo Babie🦉🤍:** _Too late, I’m omw 🤪_

 **Bobo Babie🦉🤍:** _With snacks ofc._ _I even got your favorite ~❤️_

You’ve never been able to tell your best friend no, especially if your favorite snacks are involved. You throw your blanket to the side and attempt to look halfway decent for his sudden arrival, abandoning the television show that had begun to play on your TV.

Once you see your own reflection, you wince. Apparently, finals have had a bigger impact on you than you originally thought. Dark, angry-looking bags cause your eyes to sink into your face; your hair is basically a tumbleweed sitting on top of your head, and you’re afraid you might break your brush in half trying to tame it; your cheeks are sunken in and make you look as if you’ve aged at least five years.

Your clothing does nothing to help your tired face—sweats hanging off of your hips and stained with who-knows-what, baggy t-shirt barely clinging to your shoulders and probably stretched out due to how much you tugged at it in frustration, one sock somehow missing and you have no idea when that happened.

Bokuto is going to freak out when he sees you.

Though you know nothing can hide how exhausted you truly are, you still splash some cold water on your face and swap out your stale clothes for fresh ones in hopes it somewhat livens up your appearance.

Bokuto is knocking at your door not even two seconds after you’ve pulled your shirt over your head, and you’re stumbling to try to answer before he knocks it off of the hinges. Cold winter air hits your body as soon as you swing the large piece of wood open, but Bokuto’s smile full of sheer exhilaration is enough to provide you with some warmth. His nose and cheeks have taken on a flushed pink hue, and he looks adorable bundled up in a beanie and scarf, arms full of various snacks and who knows how many different sugary drinks.

“(Y/N),” he exclaims far too loudly for your aching head’s liking, but you’re happy to see him nonetheless. “You’re alive!”

You chuckle at his enthusiasm and shift your body to allow him into your apartment. “Of course I’m alive, silly. I’m stressed beyond belief and feel like I might collapse at any moment, but I’m here.”

“Feels like you died,” he grumbles as he slips his shoes off and lays the bagged chips and sweets on the table, kicking his feet up along with them but you quickly swat them down and occupy the empty space next to him. His golden eyes take in your disheveled appearance with a sharp look, and a frown tugs at the corner of his lips.

Trying to lighten the mood, you pinch one of his round cheeks and say gently yet firmly, “C’mon, Bobo, I’m  _ fine _ . University is just stressful, especially around exams.” Your other hand reaches around to grab your TV remote so you can put something on to distract your best friend’s worrying, but not even The Whos down in Whoville can tear his attention away from you.

Bokuto pouts and huffily crosses his muscled arms over his broad chest. “I’m just mad there’s nothing I can do. You’re always helping me out when I get stressed about MSBY stuff, but I can’t help you with your school stuff. Makes me feel useless.”

“You brought me snacks and some quality time after I went through hell,” you inform him around the cheese ball you had popped into your mouth. “That’s very useful of you.”

He tears into his own bag of calorie-filled chips and begins to devour it by the handful. “Yeah, because I know you don’t eat when you get all wrapped up in school work.”

“See! That’s useful.”

Like the puppy dog he is, he whines out your name with the saddest eyes you’ve ever seen, which is a lot to say for your friend. “You know what I mean! I can’t, like, take your mind off of it during, y’know? I’m only useful after, and that doesn’t mean shit.”

“I’m serious, though. I’m always so worried about school—if I’m passing, if I’m good enough, if my professors like me, if I could’ve worded something differently in an essay… When I’m actually doing my schoolwork, I don’t think about those things. I’m so focused on doing what needs to be done that there’s no room to second-guess myself. But after it’s done… I worry. I get scared. I question myself. I start freaking out...” Your voice trails off as your thoughts take a darker turn, your arms hugging your knees to your chest and your chin resting against Bokuto’s bicep.

He watches you with earnest eyes—eyes saved specifically for you and volleyball because those are the only two things in life he takes seriously. Nothing could ever matter to him more than his best friend and his love for the sport.

His large hand find your thigh and begins to massage them tenderly, and if it were anyone else you would’ve quickly shoved them off and given them an earful of curses, but it’s Koutarou Bokuto—the man who has been your best friend since the day his family moved in next to yours and he asked you if you wanted to play pirates and ninjas with him, a smile on his round little face and an animated glimmer in his eyes that still shines to this day.

Though he looks anything but animated listening to you vent—his posture oddly stiff, his face looking gloom, his hands trying to make up for the comfort his words can’t provide. Because he  _ knows _ . He knows no matter how sweet the words are or how sincerely he says them, they do little to disperse the cloud of self doubt that follows you around whenever your schooling career gets brought up.

He knows you better than he knows himself, and that is absolutely terrifying to him.

“But then you come around and it feels like I can breathe again,” you continue on, and when you look up at him with the most innocent smile on your lips, his mouth suddenly becomes dry and his tongue feels far too large. “You know how to cheer me up and get me out of my head. You’re just…so fucking good to me. I dunno how you do it but you do and I’m so grateful for it, Bobo, grateful for  _ you _ .”

Your confession has his heart soaring straight up into throat and right back down to his gut where it explodes into a mess of drunken butterflies, clumsily flapping around and causing him to feel like he’s floating. Though he knows you only see him as a friend, his love struck brain chooses to ignore that bit of reality. It always does when it comes to you.

“So, what does the Bokuto family have planned for the holidays?” you casually ask and shift your attention back to  _ The Grinch _ , your head resting upon his bicep again.

It takes him a few minutes to pull himself out of his thoughts. He blinks once, twice, and then goes right back to pigging out on snacks and pretending he isn’t hopelessly in love with you. It’s an act he’s mastered. He’s had years of practice, after all. “My sisters are coming into town so we’re all going to have a get together at my parents’ place. Could be fun, could end in the cops being called again because my sister’s got too drunk and started fighting. Who knows?”

You wince at the memory of the fateful night. “You Bokutos really know how to take things to the extreme, huh?”

He flashes you one of his famous cheery smiles, but there’s a small spark of sadness blooming in his eyes as if his family’s antics pain him.

Or maybe it’s something else.

For someone who seems so happy-go-lucky and carefree, Bokuto carries a lot on his shoulders and rarely shares the burden, no matter how many years you’ve known him. He’s a walking contradiction—tall muscled body and soft heart, simple-minded and complex, boisterous and serious when needed, intimidating anger and contagious laughter…

No one can ever really tell what’s going through his head besides volleyball and food. Not his family. Not his teammates. Not Akaashi, his other best friend. Not even you.

“Oh!” He suddenly exclaims and nearly knocks your bag of cheese balls out of your lap. “You should spend the holidays with us!”

It’s not like you have any plans, anyway. Both of your parents are out of the country traveling now that they don’t have any more children in their household, and all you have to look forward to is drinking some cheap hot chocolate and watching cheesy Christmas movies. Besides, how can you say no to that bright smile of his?

Bokuto practically jumps straight to your ceiling when you agree to his proposal.

———————————————————————————————————-

The ride to the Bokuto residence goes exactly how you had planned: you doing all of the driving because Bokuto can’t bother to pay attention to something for more than five minutes, having to take at least six different bathroom stops because he thought it was a smart idea to chug three Mountain Dews before you hit the road (“Gotta stay awake and you banned me from energy drinks,” was his argument), him grumbling about being bored every half hour and wanting to hurry up and get there, and having far too many almost-accidents because he wanted to scream along to his obnoxious music and tried to rope you into it.

By the good Grace of God, you arrive at his parent’s house in one piece. Bokuto makes a beeline for the restroom, leaving you to attend to the two and a half week’s worth of luggage tucked into the trunk of your car. Grumbling your complaints, you begin to pull the suitcases out, but Bokuto’s father offers a hand, a smile very similar to your friend’s on his face.

“It’s good to see you again,” he greets as he picks up a few bags. “I see Koutarou is as energetic as ever.”

“He drank three Mountain Dews before we even got in the car,” you huff.

The older man chuckles and shakes his head. “Of course he did. He might be a professional volleyball player now, but he’ll always be a child at heart. C’mon, Mom has some hot coco ready for you guys and you can tell me about school.”

The Bokutos have been your second family for as long as you can remember. Always so welcoming, always so attentive, they often took care of you when your own parents got wrapped up in their plans and careers. Weekly sleepovers were a tradition for you and Bokuto all of the way up until high school when your hormones started going haywire and he finally seemed to notice that you are, in fact, a girl and he is, in fact, a boy, and boys and girls sometimes feel certain ways about each other’s bodies. 

His home is your home, which is why he feels so guilty as he pumps his cock later on in the night long after everyone has gone to sleep to the thought of being under the same roof as you.

You’re just so intoxicating to him, even wrapped up in layers of bulky winter clothing. Your smile, the way your eyes crinkle whenever you belt out a laugh at something he said, how soft your hands are despite the cold air chipping away at them, how good they would feel jerking him off instead of his own calloused ones…

The sound of skin slapping skin reverberates off of his childhood bedroom walls, and if he weren’t so fucking close to cumming already he’d be worried you could hear him. A knot of pleasure burns in his abdomen, his breathing becomes uneven, and your name tumbles out of his mouth before he can stop it.

All he can think about is you, all he cares about right now is you—your lips, your scent, your eyes, everything that makes you who you are. It’s not even five minutes later and he’s cumming, your name a prayer on his lips. His hips buck up into his hand and he’s practically fucking it thinking about about badly he wishes it were you instead. It’s one of the most intense orgasms he’s had. Cum drips between his fingers and he’s careful to clean it up so as to not leave any evidence of his night escapades.

The following morning is pure torture for him. It’s been years since he has seen you first thing in the morning and he’s forgotten how precious you look after a good night’s sleep with your wild bedhead, your baggy pajamas hanging off of your frame, your puffy eyes struggling to stay open as you prep your cup of coffee, some drool stained on your cheek.

It takes every ounce of willpower he can muster to keep himself seated in the barstool.

“Morning, Bobo,” you mumble without even looking at him. “Did your mom buy any of that peppermint creamer I like? She said she would when she went out grocery shopping yesterday.”

“I dunno,” he replies with a shaky voice. “I don’t drink that stuff.”

Holy hell, how are you so fucking hot in the morning? And how has he barely noticed you’re wearing an old t-shirt of his he gave you back in high school when it had rained one day and you were soaked down to the bone? It’s not as baggy as it was during your teenage years, and he can clearly see the way the morning air has hardened your nipples, but you’re still as oblivious as ever, bent over looking for something in the fridge and somehow managing to make your ass look good despite how big your pajamas bottoms are on you.

Fucking hell, how is he going to last two weeks with this?

His mother walks into the kitchen, already preparing to cook up the first meal of the day, and Bokuto hopes and prays she didn’t notice where his eyes were just seconds ago. “Bottom shelf behind the milk, dear,” she answers over her shoulder. “I got the biggest size I could find because I know how much you love your coffee sweet.”

Your smile is an innocent one, but it still makes a flash of heat go straight to his dick, and he has to shift his position in his seat to find some relief from his erection. “You’re the best, Mom,” you sigh, and it’s the rasp in your morning voice that nearly sends him tumbling over the edge.

Breakfast goes by smoothly. Small talk is made around food-filled mouths, and Bokuto has to concentrate extra hard to not snap and fuck you over the table right then and there. His father points out he looks constipated at one point, but it’s quickly forgotten about when you bring up the topic of who has what planned for the day since neither you or Bokuto have bought anyone gifts yet and you’re itching to go to the mall.

Bokuto’s sisters arrive during lunch and they’re just as rowdy as ever—screeching as soon as they see you and gushing about how much you’ve grown since the last time they saw you, congratulating their baby brother on his latest victory and inflating his ego even more, teasing the two of you for not having any significant others to bring for the holidays.

“Oi, you guys didn’t bring anyone,” Bokuto snaps, the tips of his ears turning pink. “So why are we getting shit for it?”

“My boyfriend is out of town visiting his family,” the eldest one shoots back.

“And my girlfriend is still stuck overseas at work,” the other one follows up. “You guys are painfully single and have been for years.”

Bokuto’s blush deepens even more, and he’s ready to bark out another comeback, but you stop him short. “Bobo is too busy with his career to get a girlfriend and I’m too busy with school to even think about a relationship. I can barely keep up with myself as is. I’d go crazy thinking about someone else.”

“Yeah, so suck on  _ that _ ,” Bokuto shouts, which earns him a light smack on the shoulder from you. He doesn’t tell his sisters he’s too busy being hopelessly in love with you to maintain a relationship. He doesn’t tell his sisters any girl he’s hooked up with (which he can count on one hand) looks like you in some way or another. He doesn’t tell his sister’s he’s been jerking off to the mental image of you riding his cock for years.

Bokuto keeps his mouth shut, his dick in his pants, and his mask of indifference firmly in place.

Until the night comes again and he’s masturbating with his ear pressed against your wall in hopes you might be doing the same as him.

Do you touch yourself? Of course you do. What adult with no sexual partner doesn’t masturbate? Especially someone who has so much stress on their shoulders, like you.

What do you think of when you touch yourself? Do you think of him? Do you imagine it’s his fingers pumping into you instead of your own? Do you think of how plump his lips get in the cold air? Do you imagine running your nails down his broad back while he thrusts inside of you? Do you moan out his name as much as he moans out yours? Do you moan out Koutarou instead of Bokuto? Or maybe you moan out your precious nickname for him you gave him when you were kids?

_ Fuck _ , it’s all too much, and Bokuto has always had an overactive imagination. With the image of you finger-fucking yourself playing on repeat in his head, he cums into the palm of his hand and groans loud enough that he’s sure you heard him.

It’s the same story for the next two nights—Bokuto desperately getting himself off, you sleeping soundly with no suspicions as to why your best friend has been looking exhausted every morning despite going to bed early, making conversation about your mutual dry dating life and taking every blow the Bokuto sisters give. It’s almost a routine at this point, and a part of Bokuto looks forward to his nightly sin sessions.

That is, until just doing it in the room next to you isn’t enough. He can play the same scene over and over in his head for so long before it stops quelling his sexual desires.

It starts off with stealing a pair of your panties from your room while you’re showering one night, the soft fabric feeling like liquid gold against his cock while he rubs it against the sensitive skin. They were cotton, he’s sure of it, probably just a cheap pair that comes in the standard pack of five, but they’re heaven compared to his rough hands. A mixture of laundry detergent and your own essences still clings to the fabric, and he wonders if you’ve gotten wet while wearing them recently. Have you been just has sex-deprived throughout this visit as he has been?

“Fucking hell, puppy,” he groans as he pushes the clothing to his nose, inhaling the scent and allowing it to drive him up the walls. “You’re so fucking naughty.”

It holds him over for three more nights, but his body still craves  _ more _ . The end of your vacation together looms close, and he’s desperate, borderline feral, to get more of you before you both have to return to your normal long distance friendship. He’s been presented with an opportunity he’s been waiting around for years, and even  _ he _ isn’t dumb enough to pass it up.

He knows you never lock your door, especially in a house you consider your home. Is it wrong of him? Perhaps. Maybe it’s so fucking sick and twisted of him and worth throwing away your entire friendship, but he can’t afford to care right now--not after the little show you put on at breakfast. You must have known exactly what you were doing when you slowly ate the sausage, never breaking eye contact with the volleyball player, your lips wrapping around the phallic meat and sucking away its juices ever so gently.

There must be a reason why you’re always so touchy with him, why you always seem to have at least one hand on him at all times, why you’re so fascinated with his biceps and always lay your head on them when you’re sitting next to him. He isn’t crazy, is he?

Maybe he is, he ponders as he slips into your room late into the night. 

Maybe he deserves every bit of disgust he feels pooling in his gut. Maybe all of the blood has finally left his brain and is permanently stuck in his dick, clouding his already-shaky judgement. Maybe he’s just a sick fuck who gets off on his best friend.

But he couldn’t be the only one who feels the sexual tension between you two, right? It’s been haunting him since you both were teenagers and he accidentally walked in on you changing. Had you wanted him to walk in that time? Did you want him to walk in  _ this _ time?

Tossing all of his doubts aside, his eyes quickly find your sleeping body tangled in the blankets on the bed, one arm thrown over your head as you laid on your stomach, your ass put on display. For  _ him _ . He’s careful to slide the blanket down your body, and a groan fights to escape his throat when he sees you aren’t wearing anything except for his shirt and a pair of panties. 

_ Please _ , you even prepared yourself for him! What a good best friend you are…

His fingers fumble to pull his erection out of the pajama bottoms that suddenly feel too tight. Precum is already leaking out of the red, swollen tip of his cock, and he uses it to lubricate the rest of his shaft. Now  _ this _ is what he’s been craving—what he’s been  _ needing _ .

A hesitant hand reaches out to your ass, and though he’s scared shitless of the feather-light touches waking you up, he can’t help himself. It’s so nicely presented, your cheeks spilling out of the sides of your lacy panties, your pussy clinging to the fabric. It’d be a sin  _ not _ to touch it.

The pace he has set increases as his digits trail your soft skin. How can someone’s ass be so silky? Before he can register just what exactly he’s doing, he becomes greedy and dares to swipe a finger down your slit, causing you to stir a little in your slumber. His heart lurches into his throat and he freezes his actions, waiting. When you don’t move again, he resumes touching himself while also touching you.

_ Fuck _ , it’s so erotic. It can’t be real, he tells himself. There’s no way he’s currently in your room, touching your cute little cunt, pumping his cock, little pants escaping his lips. There’s no way in any version of heaven he’s getting away with it. Half of him expects you to wake up, and the other more masochistic half  _ hopes _ you wake up, hopes your eyes will flutter open to the sight of his fingers rubbing circles into your clit.

But you remain deep in sleep, not even twitching as he drags his finger up and down your heat. He swears you’re getting wetter by the second, and that only makes him fist his cock harder, faster, rougher—anything to get the both of you to cum together.

“Look at my puppy getting wet for me, even in her sleep,” he whispers to himself, and brings his digits to his mouth to lick them clean. “Fuck, you taste even better than I thought.”

He resumes his ministrations on the both of you, his fingers gently pushing your panties aside and exploring your naked pussy. It’s prettier than he could have possibly imagined, and he’s damn near drooling at the sight.

“Fuck, baby, your cunt is so cute. I wanna stuff it with my fingers. Is that okay, puppy? I bet you want me to, you naughty little girl. I’ll make you cum in your sleep, don’t worry. You’ll have good dreams tonight.”

Taking your silence as a sign to keep going, he slowly inserts a finger inside of you.  _ Goddammit _ , you’re so tight, especially in your sleep. Your legs twitch a little, causing him to momentarily pause, but your face stays as peaceful as ever, so he begins to languidly explore your sopping cunt with his thick finger as he abuses his own cock. It’s a miracle, really, that you haven’t woken up yet to the sound of his hand slapping his thigh, but he’s never been one to question such abstract things like luck and fate.

Because it is fate, right? It’s fate that you were completely stressed from school and sought out comfort from your best friend. It’s fate that your parents planned a trip to explore the world and left you alone for the holidays. It’s fate the guest bedroom you’re sleeping in is right next to his own old bedroom. Fate made you decide to not wear pajama bottoms the same night Bokuto decided to finally get the courage to come into your room.

It’s lucky you haven’t woken up yet. He’s the luckiest man in the world for getting to see you this vulnerable, for being able to get you off with you none the wiser. He’s the luckiest motherfucker in this cursed universe for having the opportunity to cum right over your sleeping body.

He’s too caught up in his own ecstasy to notice you beginning to shift in your sleep, to feel you opening your legs.

“Koutarou,” you softly moan out. “Koutarou, fuck me faster.  _ Please _ .”

So you  _ do _ moan out his given name rather than his family one. Though he knows he should be more worried about waking you up, he’s too drunk on the fact that you’re dreaming about him fucking you rather than any of those silly celebrities you’re always raving so much about.

“I’ll give it to you faster, puppy,” he groans as he pumps both of his hands faster. “I’ll get us both to cum. You don’t have to worry about a thing. I’ll take care of us both.”

You whimper and bury your angelic face into the pillow more. “More. I need more.”

Are you awake right now? How can you be saying exactly what he needs to hear to keep going, to keep finger-fucking your pussy?

No, it’s fate. You two have always been destined to cum together, he knows it.

So he keeps his finger buried in you, wriggling around your spongy walls to find that sweet spot, and he keeps fisting his cock at a desperate speed, damn near humping the air as he chases his orgasm, doing anything and everything in his power to get you to coat his fingers in your sweet juices without even waking you from your lewd dreams.

The promise of an orgasm looms over his shoulder, and judging by the way your cunt is fluttering around his fingers, he can tell yours is close too. Just a little more, he tells himself. Just push a little more and soon you’ll both be in unadulterated bliss together.

“I’m close, puppy,” he whispers in your ear. “I’m so fucking close. Can you cum for me? Can you be a good girl and cum for me please?”

Your body tenses up, your cute face scrunches up, and your cunt clenches his digits once last time before you moan out, “Koutarou,  _ please _ .” Not even a second later, you’re cumming all over his hand, you juices spilling over his knuckles and coating the bed sheets underneath you.

Using your cum as extra lube, he finishes in his hand and watches in lust as evidence of both of your pleasure mixes in his palm. It’s one of the hottest things he’s ever seen in his life. High on hormones and cum, he’s tempted to go another round but is hesitant to tempt fate again. It was kind to him once. Who's to say it would be again?

Instead, he slides your underwear back into place, crawls off of your bed, and stalks back to his room before you can even wake up.

“Best holiday vacation ever,” he says to himself, a smile fixed on his lips and his cum-stained hand hovering over his heart.

You wake up the following morning to soaked blankets and panties. At first, you’re afraid you soiled the bed because, dear god, there’s such a fucking mess. But then you remember the dream you had, how Bokuto had fucked you senseless and made you into such a slutty little thing, and it all starts to make sense to you.

God, how are you going to face him at breakfast when the only thing you can think about is how feral he was?

You take a cold shower in hopes it would calm down your steamy thoughts, but it does nothing to aid the burning between your thighs. Not even a little fun with the shower head can help, and you’re left cold, horny, and anxious.

It’s not the first time you’ve had a wet dream about Bokuto.  _ Oh, God, no.  _ All of your teenage years were spent lusting after him and pretending it was his hand giving you pleasure rather than your own. But this one felt so  _ real _ . You’ve never cum so much from a dream, and it almost feels as if you can still feel the ghost of his fingers inside of you.

_ Stop it _ , you scold yourself, and it takes all of your strength to walk into the kitchen because you know Bokuto will already be awake. He’s always the first one awake. It’s like he lives off of four hours of sleep a night.

“Morning, sweet cheeks,” Bokuto cheerily greets from his usual spot on the barstool.

You grumble back what you hope is a distinguishable response and begin your morning ritual of brewing up some coffee, but stop short once you see a pot has already been made. Reaching up to grab your favorite mug, you ask over your shoulder, “You already made some, Bobo?”

“Thought I’d give it a try since you all are always raving about how good this stuff is,” he replies in a casual tone. “It’s not too bad. Little bitter for me but I can get used to it.”

“Yeah, well, I hope you made it extra strong because I’m going to need all of the caffeine I can get.”

A smug smile is hidden behind his own coffee mug. “Rough night?”

“No. I slept really well,” you answer around a yawn as you stir creamer into your beverage. “Almost too well. Maybe finals really did wipe me out.”

“You’re welcome.”

You snap your head towards him, and you’re afraid you might’ve moaned out his name in your sleep. “What?”

Bokuto waves your concern away. “Oh, nothing. Don’t worry about it, sweet cheeks.” He then proceeds to slam his hands on the bar and jump up from his seat, bolting towards the living room without even sparing you another glance. “Hey! Let’s go shake the presents before everyone else wakes up and see if we can guess what’s inside!”

You can’t shake the sinking feeling in your gut his comment caused. A part of you feels inexplicably violated, a filth no amount of steaming hot showers can wash away seeping in your bones.

_ Why? _

You’re at your home-away-from-home, surrounded by some of your favorite people on planet Earth, celebrating one of your favorite holidays. You  _ should _ feel happy. You  _ should _ feel safe.

So why is this cloud of fear following you around?

“Come  _ on _ ,” Bokuto’s impatient voice rings out from the other room. “They’re gonna be waking up soon!”

Heaving a big sigh, you push your dark feelings away and put on a smile. He’s your best friend, right? If anyone could make you feel better, it would be Koutarou Bokuto.


End file.
